


Across The Sky (And Down From Heaven)

by contextclues



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Depressed Peter Parker, Depression, Dissociation, Hurt Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Not Happy, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Sad Peter Parker, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23090191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contextclues/pseuds/contextclues
Summary: Peter Parker's last seven days.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 107





	1. Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Seven Days Of Regret](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18945658) by [iamalystark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamalystark/pseuds/iamalystark). 



> I know this one is only the night and not the whole day, but I'll do the entire days for the coming chapters I promise :)

"Hey, Karen?" Peter called softly. There was no need for him too be loud, high above the city. 

He loved New York more than anything. In all the bustle and anonymity of the city, he had made just enough of a mark to call it a home.

But he also liked the rooftops, he liked the solitude where he could just _watch_. He could hear the honking and see the ocean of lights from far away enough that it felt like watching a movie.

"Yes, Peter?"

He liked Karen, too. She was gentle in a way Mr. Stark's other AIs weren't. She was soft and friendly and seemed like she cared, though Peter still wasn't sure just how much of that had been programmed into her.

"Anything going on?"

Karen took a moment to respond, and Peter leaned back onto his arms, focusing on the way his feet dangled down from the edge of the rooftop as she scanned the city.

"Not that I picked up. Would you like me to alert you if I find anything?"

"Yeah," He deflated a little bit, "That would be nice. Thank you."

"Of course, Peter."

He kicked half heartedly against the wind, swinging his foot back between the city and the side of the concrete wall he sat on. 

He didn't like to get lost in thought, but then he didn't like thinking much to begin with. The things his mind liked to tell him had a history of viciousness, and the way he liked to believe every word had a history too. 

But there was nothing else he could do.

He knew he was slipping back into his old habits, had been for a while if he didn't want to kid himself, and the fact that he didn't quite care should've been enough to alarm him. 

He had long since surrendered that the world didn't need Peter Parker. Another brown haired, brown eyed nobody with an A- average and some worn shirts with science puns? The world would find some way to fill in the gaps.

If he had only been Peter Parker, he would've allowed himself to let go a long time ago.

But he wasn't just Peter Parker. 

He wasn't going to lie to himself, the world didn't need Spiderman any more than it did Peter, but that wasn't the point.

Queens needed Spiderman. 

And that was enough, for a while. 

If he could just drag himself through his day, finish enough homework to keep his grades up, sleep enough to not be noticed, eat enough to not worry May, he could keep looking out for the little guy.

He could keep doing flips for people and help people with their groceries and maybe save a few lives along the way.

But everybody grows up.

Spiderman was a fever dream, none of it was _real_ to Peter. He had tried so hard to help, but things had been slowing down lately, and he wasn't yet ready to admit that Spiderman was all he was hanging on for. 

"Karen?" He called again just as gently as before.

She hummed in acknowledgement.

"Does the city need Spiderman?" Tbe question left his mouth dry and his hands white as they gripped the concrete like it was his own beating heart.

It felt stupid claiming to be a hero and cursing the fact that his city was crime-free.

It felt selfish and nauseating and _lonely_ and he didn't want to die, but what else had he left for himself?

"Of course, Peter. Queens has gotten approximately 107% safer since you began regularly patrolling."

Everybody grows up.


	2. Wednesday (School)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Splitting this chapter into two parts because it was getting so long <3

He knew it would've been torture having to wake up, if he had had to do so, but he never managed to fall asleep to begin with.

He threw a heavy hand in the vague direction of his nightstand, desperate to silence the shrill of his alarm clock. He rubbed his dry eyes, wincing at the way his head was already pounding.

He briefly noted the soreness in his legs, but by the time he accepted it was probably just another consequence of lying awake in bed every night for days on end, the notion had been forgotten.

He didn't bother to change out of the jeans and hoodie he had attempted to wear to sleep, but made half the effort to mess with his hair until it looked presentable enough to step outside with.

He breathed a quiet "Holy shit," as he opened his bedroom door and the light from the rest of the apartment greeted him with a pang of nausea and a renewed interest in finding some advil he knew wouldn't help his migraine.

He didn't bother calling for May, she had began taking up the morning shifts on weekdays while one of the other nurses was on maternity leave, so he tugged on his shoes, and poured seven advils into his hand before grabbing his backpack from beside the door. 

He didn't bother to look at the time to know he was going to be late, so he shrugged his backpack on as he was locking the door behind him, and dry swallowed the pills one at a time as he ran down the corridor.

He never stopped his sprint, despite the sun bringing him a new wave of nausea every time he blinked and the way his legs ached enough for him to nearly allow himself a breather.

He heard the bell ring the moment he was close enough to see the school, and briefly cursed his enhanced senses for allowing him to hear it from so far.

He dropped his shoulders and allowed his hands to fall from their white-knuckled grip around the bag straps to rest dejectedly in his pockets as he slowed to a walk.

He was late anyway.

He cringed imperceptibly as he forced himself to accept the upcoming detention, but he also hadn't made it to school on time in weeks, so he had to admit it was fair.

Fumbling around the side of his bag, he slipped a hand into the mesh pocket as he neared the doors, and flashed his ID up the the camera. 

As he was buzzed in and pushed the heavy door open into the office, he swore he saw the receptionist frown at him, but by the time he looked over, she was back to typing loudly on her desktop.

He walked through the office to the far end, stopping in front of the brown desk he had grown so familiar to.

"Hey, Ms. Burke." He greeted.

"Again, Peter?" The woman rolled her eyes. She didn't say it to be rude, and he knew that. The woman was the kindest soul he had ever seen, and she was already working on filling in his pass.

He flashed her a sheepish smile as he signed himself into school, only stopping to ask her for the time. 

She told him, then flicked her eyes to the small number pad on his right. "You know the drill, hon." 

He punched in his student number and waited for her to finish filling out his late pass. 

She slid it over to him, and he shoved it in his pocket as he thanked her and began to walk away. "See you tomorrow Ms. Burke!"

"I better not!" 

His first class was Spanish, which was never too bad. Flash wasn't in it, and Ned sat behind him, so it didn't really matter that he couldn't speak the language for the life of him.

He tried his hardest to slip into class quietly, but his teacher loudly greeted him with, "Hola, tarde! Qué pasó?" and put her hand out for the pass as soon as he opened the door.

He offered her the slip of paper, and mumbled some excuse as he set his bag down and slid into his seat.

He numbly registered Ned kicking the leg of his chair to get his attention as he rested his chin on his palm and used the other hand to brush against the side of his thighs, almost frustrated at the way they didn't burn underneath the rough fabric of his jeans.

By the time he had turned back into the world, the bell for lunch was ringing and he had at some point moved from the second row of his Spanish classroom to the last row of physics.

Ned was still trying to talk to him, which he realised when he finally acknowledged the mountain of notes on his desk torn out of the corners of Ned's spiral notebook. He was about to apologise and ask what was going on when Mr. Harrington interrupted them.

"Mr. Parker? Could you come here for a minute?" 

Peter locked confused eyes with Ned, but his friends just shrugged and whispered that he would be waiting in the band room with MJ.

Peter didn't move until the door was closed and Mr. Harrington cleared his throat.

Hesitantly approaching the desk, he let out an jittery chuckle, "What's up?"

Mr. Harrington was silent for a moment, not bothering to speak until he had taken his glasses off his face, folded them neatly on the desk between them, and dragged a tired hand across his eyes. 

Dropping his hand into his lap and swivelling his chair to face directly at Peter, he quietly asked, "What's going on, Peter?"

Peter only blinked, fumbling for a second before he even knew where to begin, "What do you mean?"

The teacher gently tightened his smile before clarifying, "You have a D in my class."

Peter felt nauseous. He felt cold and ill and angry and suddenly he needed a chair more desperately than anything.

"I have a- I? What?" He choked out instead.

"Yeah. And what's confusing to me is I know you know all of this material, Peter. You're a smart kid. Are you bored in class?"

"No, I'm not. I love your class, I swear, but-"

"Peter," Mr. Harrington leaned forward in his chair, uncrossing his legs to lean his elbows on the table, "You haven't turned in homework for weeks. You don't pay attention in class. I can't figure out why. I'm willing to let you make it up, but you also have to figure out what's going on."

"I'm- Nothing's going on-"

Mr. Harrington looked more tired than Peter had ever seen him, as he slowly put a hand up to stop his rambling.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me. I don't know what's going on with your life, and trust me, your junior year physics class isn't going to be the most monumental part of building your future, but don't drop the ball, okay? You're capable."

Peter only stared at him. There was no way to respond.

"I'll send you all the homework you haven't turned in in an e-mail so you can keep track of it. If you can get it to me by next Friday I'll give you full credit."

"Sorry." 

The teacher smiled carefully before nodding his head towards the door, "Now go eat lunch."

He hastily shoved the mess of notes and pencils on his desk into his bag before rushing out the door and locking himself in a bathroom stall. 

He leaned his back against the door, exhaling as he stared wearily at the fluorescent lighting.

He blinked blearily, semi-aware of the way the lights made his head pound right behind his eye, so he dropped his gaze down to his wrist.

He bit his lip painfully as he tugged his sleeve down and saw untouched skin, no mark or scar or scratch to confess to what he had done only hours previously.

It was nice, sometimes. His accelerated healing. It was so, so easy to hide his habit. The impermanence of it gave him no reason to quit, no guilt to feel when he was forced to understand after the fact.

But sometimes he just wanted to see himself bleed without watching his cuts stitch themselves closed right before his eyes. Sometimes he wanted to go to school and just feel the pain of it all without having to sneak off to the bathroom with a razor in his pocket.

Sometimes he was too tired to bother.

He lifted his backpack off the small hook in the middle of the stall door before he could change his mind, and trudged off to the nurses office instead of the band room.

_**Me (12:07)** _

_i dont feel very well ill join u and mj later im going to the nurse_

**_Guy in the Chair (12:07)_ **

_u good bro?? what did harrington say 2 u_

**_Me (12:09)_ **

_nothing he wanted to talk about decathlon or smth I wasnt rly paying attention lmao_

**_Guy in the Chair (12:10)_ **

_oof okay then feel better bro_

Clicking off his phone, he pushed the grey door to the nurses office. He didn't go in there very often, but the wall of pamphlets about STDs and disorders and smoking paired with the white plastic chairs felt universal enough to him, it seemed familiar anyway.

  
He didn't know the nurses name, but the small room number outside the door had shown the name 'Mrs. Wilson' on the bottom of it.

"Hey, kiddo," The woman behind the counter greeted. She wore leopard printed plastic glasses that frankly hurt his eyes to look at, so he shot his gaze to the equally garish school carpeting, "You feeling alright?"

"Yeah," He began quietly, "I mean, no. Can I just lie down? I don't feel well."

She nodded slightly, walking around the counter and sitting him down in one of the plastic chairs, and her smile dropped as she spoke, "Don't feel well, how? You think you're sick?"

"I think I just have a headache."

"Alright," She nodded, "How about I give you some ibuprofen and I'll let you lie down until lunch is over. Have you eaten anything today?"

He nodded his head to say yes, and whether or not she believed him, she stood up to fetch the medicine. 

"What's your student number?" She called from behind her computer, "I need to check your parents have signed the forms so I can give this to you."

He answered her, and she emerged from behind the counter a few moments later with two ibuprofens sitting in the medicine cap and a small paper cup of water.

"There's a cot area where you can lie down for the next half an hour until lunch finishes. I don't think anyone else is back there, but there are curtains between the beds if you want. I'll come check on you when the bell rings, and if you still don't feel well, we can try and ask someone to come pick you up, okay?"

He nodded slowly, careful not to aggravate the throbbing in his skull as he followed her back to find four plastic cots. He settled into one of them, blessing every god he could remember the name of when she turned off the light as she left.


End file.
